


And

by trololoception



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Get Well Soon Tazer, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trololoception/pseuds/trololoception
Summary: Even worse, the niggling feeling that a few years ago he would’ve texted Kaner in a heartbeat: Come over. If Kaner didn’t answer within a few minutes he would’ve called, ordered Kaner to come over, demanded his favorite food and shakes and foot rubs. Now he still wants Kaner’s company just as much, maybe even wants it more than ever, and he's hesitating; he doesn’t have the guts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For you altri! <3 and hope the muses come to you soon :)

Jonny sits gingerly on the edge of his bed, then starts the process of slowly lowering himself down to the mattress before flipping the blankets over his body. Even that he takes too fast and winces with the zing of pain. He concentrates on his breathing, in slowly, hold for three counts, out slowly, hold for three counts. Soon enough the tension leaches out of his body and he can reach for his book; he’s read _Beyond Training_ so many times since his fall it’s practically printed on the insides of his eyelids at this point, and some passages he knows by heart, but he figures reinforcing his knowledge can’t hurt, so he turns to the beginning again. 

He glances at his phone on the nightstand and thinks about all the concerned texts from friends he hasn’t answered yet. He has to go back to concentrating on his breathing again at that. Even worse, the niggling feeling that a few years ago he would’ve texted Kaner in a heartbeat: Come over. If Kaner didn’t answer within a few minutes he would’ve called, ordered Kaner to come over, demanded his favorite food and shakes and foot rubs. Now he still wants Kaner’s company just as much, maybe even wants it more than ever, and he's hesitating; he doesn’t have the guts. 

With the whirlwind of the circus trip still going on he’d mostly been spending all his time with the doctors and trainers, pestering them for more information on things he could do to speed up his recovery, get him back on the ice. Kaner’s come to his room a few times to check on him, but they’ve both been too exhausted to do more than exchange a few sentences before going to sleep in separate beds. Before his fall they'd been talking hockey 24/7, normal for them except for the edge of frustration it'd taken on. 

“Don’t want to roll over in the middle of the night and hurt you,” Kaner said the last time Jonny asked him to stay. He kissed Jonny goodnight, but so briefly that it left Jonny with a pit in his stomach watching him go out the door. 

Jonny sighs and tells himself to stop obsessing. He turns back to his book. 

 

When he wakes up it’s to darkness, and for a moment he’s seized with panic - is his vision going? The doctors said his head was fine, they triple-checked and they told him he was _fine_ \- before his vision adjusts and he realizes he just fell asleep and the lights are off. Even so he stays tense - he can’t remember turning off the light or-- or putting the book away on the nightstand. Then he hears the soft murmur of the t.v. through the door. He carefully levers himself up and out of bed, then opens his bedroom door. He can hear it more clearly now. It’s hockey commentary, which confirms his hope: 

Kaner’s here.

He walks towards the living room, heart pounding, and when he turns the corner Kaner looks up at him. 

“Hey,” Kaner says, getting up to meet him. Jonny has no idea how Patrick Kane, pipsqueak of the NHL, makes him feel small when he puts his hands gently at Jonny’s waist and looks at him like that. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Jonny says dumbly. Kaner raises his eyebrows, skeptical, a familiar enough expression that Jonny snaps back to himself. “Uh, okay. I got checked out again, and it’s the same thing everyone’s been tellin’ me. Need to rest, recover, all that. I feel fine, though, I could--”

“Jon,” Kaner interrupts. Jonny stops, chewing his lip as he waits for Kaner to keep talking. He just watches Jonny for a moment. “You don’t have to pitch to me. I know you want to get back out there, but it’s better to get back later when you’re a hundred percent than risk being hurt the entire rest of the season. You know that.” 

“Yeah,” Jonny says, exhaling. “Just hate feeling so useless. Not that I was any help even when I was--”

“Jon,” Kaner says again, shaking his head. “C’mon. You know you were doing the right things. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. You said so yourself, I heard your postgames.” Jonny snorts.

“They’ve trained me well, I guess,” he says, shrugging, and then winces at the movement. Kaner’s brow furrows immediately, guides Jonny over to the couch and then supports him down. 

“Does it hurt bad? It’s me,” Kaner adds, impatient, when Jonny opens his mouth to answer. “Seriously, just tell me.” Jonny bristles at the assumption that he was just gonna lie, and then Kaner says, “Seriously, are you hurt?” and Jonny hears the genuine worry in his voice. 

“No, no,” Jonny says, raising his hands up to rest on Kaner’s arms. “I’m fine, seriously. I’m not trying to act tough, it seriously-- I’m a little sore when I move and I really do feel fine so I keep getting surprised by it, that’s all.” 

“Okay,” Kaner says, not looking entirely reassured. “You want some tylenol? The doctor give you something?” 

“No, I don’t need it,” Jonny says, shaking his head. “Just need to rest, probably.” 

“Yeah, you were sleeping when I came in,” Kaner says. He smirks, dimple flashing. “Probably ‘cause that book of yours is so boring.” 

“Shut up,” Jonny says, punching his arm. “It’s the best. You even said you liked it.”

“Parts of it,” Kaner says, rolling his eyes. “And you forced me to, you recite that thing at me.” 

“I don’t fucking recite it,” Jonny says, nudging him again. “And I can’t force you to like something.”

“You do though,” Kaner says, and leans in to kiss Jonny. “You forced me to drink that disgusting pink smoothie,” he murmurs, kissing Jonny in between words. “Tastes like vomit.” 

“Don’t kiss me while you’re talking about vomit,” Jonny orders, knocking their foreheads together. He's helplessly relieved at the familiar press of Kaner's mouth against his. “So you’re saying you like the smoothie now though, right?” 

“It’s alright,” Kaner concedes, and steals another kiss before leaning back. “C’mon. Back to bed with you, sir.” 

Jonny grumbles as Kaner practically lifts him off the couch: “I can get up by myself.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaner says, but he still puts a hand at the small of Jonny’s back to guide him back down the hallway to his bedroom. 

He insists on helping Jonny into bed, flipping the blankets back and lowering Jonny onto the mattress, then tucking him in. Jonny opens his mouth to say he’s not a _baby_ , Kaner, and then he catches the look of concentration on Kaner's face as he smooths out the blankets on him with his palms. He shuts his mouth and looks up at him, feeling a little uncertain and small again. 

“You’re not gonna stay?” he asks quietly.  


“I still don’t want to roll over on you and make your back worse,” Kaner says. 

“Oh,” Jonny says. 

Kaner looks at him for a moment, searching his face. “Jon…”

“Stay until I fall asleep, then,” Jonny pushes, watching him. “Please?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Kaner says, going around to his side of the bed and climbing in carefully, so Jonny can’t even feel the mattress move under him. “I’ll even read you some of that book, that oughta put you right out.” 

“Shut the fuck up about my book,” Jonny complains, and then he rolls over too fast and can’t hide his wince again. 

“Jon, seriously, you have to be more careful,” Kaner scolds, hands immediately on him to steady him and keep him still while Jonny breathes through it. “What’s up with you? S’why I knew I had to come over, knew you couldn’t take care of yourself.” He keeps up a steady stream of that under his breath the whole time he slowly helps Jonny get on his side. “Are you even supposed to be sleeping on your side? Is that good for your back?” he demands.

“Doc said it was fine,” Jonny mumbles, hiding his face in Kaner’s thigh. It’s all he wanted to do anyway. 

“Like I can trust a fucking word you say,” Kaner bitches. That stings, a deep down ache he feels all the way to his toes. He keeps quiet.

“Jonny. Hey,” Kaner says after a moment. Jonny moves a little so he can see him. Kaner’s peering down at him with a frown. “What’s up with you?” he asks again. “You’re not yelling back at me.” 

“Nothing,” Jonny says, and presses his face into Kaner’s thigh and the blankets again. “Whatever.” 

“Oh, right,” Kaner says, and pokes his arm. “Talk.”

“It’s nothing,” Jonny insists, muffled.

“Jon.” Kaner keeps poking him. “Seriously.”

“Ow. Stop. Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?” Jonny unearths himself to glare up at him. Kaner just stares him down, waiting. 

Jonny sighs and settles back down. “Just...I want to be back on the ice again.” It’s not a lie.

“Yeah. And?” Damn it.

“And…” Jonny looks at a spot on the covers. “And I want to score again.”

“You will.” Kaner says it with such finality that Jonny actually does feel a little reassured. “And?” 

Jonny sighs again. “And...I want to be able to score again with you.” 

“We will,” Kaner says, again with such confidence that Jonny glances up at him. “You and I both know we need a left wing. When we were on the ice with Panarin, we had good chances. The two of us can’t do everything.” 

“I guess,” Jonny says reluctantly. He still feels like if he’d just managed to win more battles, catch more of Kaner’s passes, then maybe--

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kaner says, sounding fond. “You’re thinking if only you’d just been better, right? C’mon, man, even you can’t be a center and a left wing at the same time.” Jonny feels his face grow hot. It’s equal parts reassuring and annoying sometimes how well Kaner knows him.

“At least you’re back with Panarin and Anisimov,” Jonny says. “You guys will have to score for me.”

“Hey,” Kaner says. “Look at me.” Jonny reluctantly shifts again to look at him properly. Kaner’s blue eyes are intensely focused on him, his brow furrowed. “No one can replace you in the locker room or on the ice. We need you. So you have to rest up so you can get better quick. Got it?”

Jonny swallows. “Yeah.” 

“Good. Q’s probably been crying himself to sleep every night, can’t do that to the old man,” Kaner says, mouth curving up as Jonny laughs. 

“Yeah, right,” he replies. “Not as hard as you, right?”

“Yeah, well, I get to come home to you,” Kaner says softly, making Jonny’s heart squeeze. “So it’s different.” He pauses, then smirks. “Or at least, it’d better be.”

“You just had to ruin the moment, didn’t you,” Jonny says, and Kaner grins down at him. 

“Anything else?” Kaner prods.

Jonny definitely shouldn’t say anything. He should just go to bed, content to have Kaner next to him, and-- On the other hand, he’s injured. Just 'cause the docs say no concussion doesn't mean that he doesn't maybe have a headache affecting him or something. That's his cover right there. He looks up at Kaner.

“You didn’t come over earlier,” he says, and immediately feels pathetic. "No, nevermind, I--"

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” Kaner says, reaching out a hand to cup Jonny’s head, then strokes his hair. “Guess what you were doing when I came over?”

“You didn’t text me,” Jonny presses.

“I thought you’d be sleeping, Jon,” Kaner says, exasperated now. “And you always forget to turn do not disturb on, and then you yell at _me_ \--”

"Who the fuck texts somebody at eleven p.m. when they've got practice in the--"

“I wanted to see you,” Kaner interrupts. Jonny stops, mouth open. “Obviously I want to see you. But you were so tired, and I was fucking tired of losing without you." He rubs his jaw, a familiar gesture of weariness that makes Jonny lower his hackles. Kaner watches him for a moment, then quirks a corner of his mouth. "C'mon, Jon, I even offered to read to you. Only one I’d read--” Kaner stretches out over him to get the book from the nightstand and look at the cover. “ _Beyond Training_ to. Oh, man.”

Jonny already hates himself for his next question, hiding his face again, but he has a lot of offtime now and he’s been reading a lot of press. A lot. “Panarin?”

“Read this to Panarin?” Kaner repeats incredulously above him. “We want him to _like_ English, Jon.” 

Jonny pinches his thigh _hard_ , looking up despite his burning face just to glare. Kaner gives him an assessing look, still half-smiling from his joke. “Starting to feel like the only thing that’s gonna make you feel secure's a ring.”

Jonny stares at him, breath stopped in his throat. 

“Obviously if I _was_ gonna propose, I’d do it better than this, though.” 

Jonny swallows, mouth dry. “Obviously.” 

“Cut a hole in the book and put the ring in there. You read it so much you’d probably find it in, like, an hour.” Kaner shakes his head in amusement.

“You can’t cut a hole in this book,” Jonny says, shocked. “It’s autographed.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Kaner says, rolling his eyes, and slides down the bed so Jonny’s dislodged onto the pillow. “Hey,” Jonny protests. Kaner rolls his eyes again, up close this time, and tilts his head to kiss him. 

Kaner pulls away after a moment to look at him, hand coming up to Jonny’s cheek. “Maybe after you’re better,” he says softly, thoughtful. Jonny has to catch his breath just at the thought of it. A ring. More than that. A promise. 

“What if I propose first?” Jonny asks, grinning, poking him in the ribs. 

“Then the book gets it,” Kaner says, eyebrows raised. Jonny pinches him again. 

“Shut the fuck up about the book,” he complains, then beams, and pulls Kaner back in where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing the same fic over and over I know, can't wait until I finally get it right. All feedback appreciated!


End file.
